His Footsteps
by September's Nobara
Summary: Another addition to the VW addiction Wolfwood is increasingly nervous around Vash, so, he tries to help Wolfwood relax. Sorry, no lemon, lime, or citrus, etc. here, dears. First Person Wolfwood narrative.


Author's Notes: Welcome to my first completed fan fiction set in the _Trigun _universe; Originally, the quotations from songs were to mark a new "sub-chapter" of the story, but near the end (?), one will find this idea deteriorate into rather inane fluffiness. Additionally, the future of this story is up in the air: One-shot, or first chapter? Time shall tell. Constructive critisism is, as always, welcome more than the "OMG yoor soo gud wright mour" style of reviewing. Ahh, let the phobics enjoy the wrath of open-mindedness.

Rating: Teen, to teen plus; Reasons: Alcohol use, mention of tobacco addiction/usage, and, I suppose, light shonen ai, depending on your views, could be considered "mature themes".

Summary/Settings: Another addition to the V/W addiction; Wolfwood is increasingly nervous around Vash, so, he tries to help Wolfwood relax. Sorry, no lemon/lime/citrus/etc. here, dears. First Person Wolfwood narrative.

His Footsteps

_"Sad eyes, crooked crosses,_

_in God's country."_

_God's country, U2._

"You, Vash the Stampede," I begin, "are drunk."

He looks up at me from the one chair I managed to find for him, his watery, blue-green-purple-

and-Lord-only-knows-how-many-other colored eyes focusing on mine for a moment as he

assuredly informs me that I'm wrong.

I swallow the smirk building in my voice as I tell him that we're going back to the hotel

room.

"What a-about...?" Vash murmurs, waving a limp hand in the general direction of the

front of the tavern-slash-hotel, where light jazz is playing, performed beautifully to even my ears.

"You'll live," I say, lifting the lump of not-quite-humanity as gingerly as I can, and begin

the trek to the stairs.

_'Will you?'_

_What?_ I glance down at Vash, questioning him with a raised eyebrow and a mildly con-

fused expression on my face.

Either he's ignoring the look, or he genuinely _is _drunk, but he doesn't return my inquiries.

Rolling my eyes and grimacing at the stairs, I pull both of us up them, a leg at a time. _Why? _I

wonder, stealing a quicker than the near fabled substance of rain glance. _Why do I keep finding_

_him like this? _

Grimacing at the memory-not what that memory contains, I assure you, but _why_ it

happened, _because_ it happened in the first place... finding him in the midst of nowhere, going as

some guy dubbed 'Ericks'...

_Shoulders hunching, hiding from the harsh reality, so not like myself, lord... _No, never,

like myself... I-

"Nick?" he slurs, against my neck; warm, moist breath, inebriated breath, smiling, I think.

"Yes?" I say, as best I can with him leaning heavily against my right side, _breathing _on

my neck. "What is it, Tongari? You can't be thirsty, now, can you?"

"Nah," he grins, he must be a little bit sober, to catch the sarcasm, "I'm good." Pausing

as we reach the room. "I want to thank you...for...y'know," he blushes, a new foundation for the

red-pink haze embracing his face. "Everything."

Smiling, or maybe I'm smirking, I'm not sure, I lean him up against the wall, steadying

him with a hand at his shoulder. "Welcome to it," I say while fiddling around in a pocket for

keys to the room, _Where are they? _when, nearly absentmindedly, I remove my right hand from

his shoulder. _C'mon-_ _Eh!_

A forehead rests on my chest, my chin tickled and poked by those blonde and black

spikes, _light and dark, _Vash and Knives-I shudder at the image of the "elder brother", hair

translucent in the sun, eyes calculating their owner's next destructive move; Vash, and... of

course, the short one, Meryl, who cared... Vash and...

_What? _A voice in my head mutters, _you? _

_No, of course not,_ I say to myself, a slight shiver running up my spine and down my

limbs, minute convulsions, hardly detectable, as I unlock the door, and shove the spikey-haired

ninny of a savior of mankind in the room; unnecessarily rough, yes, but needed.

Though, if one were to ask me, who needed it, Vash or me, I...don't think I could say.

"Wolfwood?"

"Yes?" I respond, a bit anxious-though I've no idea why.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

_I think the bathroom sounds nice._

"Uh," I watch him as he slumps slightly in the chair he's managed to find. _Didn't really _

_think about that, Tongari. _

"You wanna share?" He gestures to the twin-sized bed.

He _must _be drunk, to think like that-though, of course, it _is _the thought that counts; I tell

myself that as I shove him again into the bed, and I leave him. _I have to_, so don't give me that

look, _please, don't give me those eyes, as if you'd give the world if only the one person who's _

_stayed by you almost every waking-and sleeping-moment could have a place to rest_. Near _you_,

I don't even deserve it: I'm...not everything...that you think I...am.

Lord, I'm getting nervous here, my hands are shaking as I light the paper and tobacco,

bring it to my lips. Great, there's a lid where I'm sitting, so no need to worry over "falling in".

_Falling in _what A voice in the back of my head asks me, and I recognize it as the more

cynical-if that were possible-part of my own mind. If my voice is chocolate, then this one is

the deeper, richer kind; the special dark flavor, with a firm form, and dissolves slowly.

_Nothing._

_-What a load._

_I'm not lying!_

_-Right. _

_Of course I'm telling the truth! Why shouldn't I?_

_-Contradicting yourself, there, aren't you, Nicholas? Is _that _why you're blushing over that_

_plant? Or...are you afraid he'll leave you if you speak the truth?_

_-I'm waiting._

_I'm _not afraid.

_"A palm breeze blows outside,_

_I don't break stride,_

_Thoughts are warm,_

_'N they go deep inside of you."_

_-Third Eye Blind, _

_Deep Inside of You_

"Wolfwood?"

I jerk awake, jumping despite myself at the voice, like a flute, high and airy, but more... I

don't know, it has more of a timbre to it.

"Eh...?" Blinking my eyes into focus, I see a spiky blonde head, pale, concerned face

framed by blonde and black; it's _him_, Vash. I swallow, feeling a vague blush rise in my face,

maybe from the fact he saw me asleep in the bathroom? "Hey, Vash," I say, wincing while I

stand, knots and kinks making loud protests against this interrupting movement.

"Morning Wolfwood."

_He's back to using my surname._

"You need to...?" I ask, gesturing at the "seat" I'd unknowingly used for a resting place

the night before.

"Nah, I'm good, thanks," he answers, smiling hollowly. _Again_. He raises his head slightly,

his chin jutting out in-I'm sure-an unintentionally impertinent pose. "You might want to get

breakfast, though. Care to join me, Wolfwood?" Vash opens the door with his left hand, making

an overly grand sweeping motion with his right in the direction to the first floor, toward the inn

half of the hotel.

"Alright," I answer, slightly proud of myself for answering as nonchalantly as I did. We

step out of the room together, though somehow, he's in front of me when we start down the

stairs. I don't mind; _I can stare at him easier this way._ Broad, confidant shoulders, leading down

to blunt, capable hands, _touch me, hold me, embrace me. _

_...Please?_

Now, those audaciously handsome fingers are probing in his pocket, finding money for

food.

Crap, he looks at me, catches me staring-does he suspect anything? _Please... don't _

_know._

I'm spared for the moment, he just asks whether or not I want what he's having, or

something different.

Whatever you want," I shrug, ignoring the slight paranoia that I'll be subjected to dough-

nuts soon. Wandering away from the order desk, I locate a table that doesn't seem as ready to

fall apart as the rest, taking a seat. Something stronger than this new feeling toward Vash

claws it's way from both my head and stomach to meet, in a self-depreciating, anarchist way,

in the middle, eats at me...

_Fine, fine, _I give into the urge, and light the synthetic tobacco and paper, jamming it

roughly in my mouth.

"You know, that's kind of gross," Vash says mildly, as if remarking on the weather. Even

in nonchalance, I'm made to gasp at his sudden appearance before me, which, in turn, causes

me to inhale more of the smoke than I intended to, removing the cigarette and coughing a bit.

Though, I'm not so distracted by my own reaction as to not realize the way Vash is

regarding me; eyes focused, his mouth a thin, contemplating line, determining _something _is

going to happen... the only question I have is what?

The next day, a Sunday, and it's four or five in the morning-I'm not sure- and I'm walking

down the planked streets in this rare, crisp morning that's devoid of the harsh report of gunfire.

The small town had found me to be a "man of god" (I couldn't resist quirking my eyebrows up at

the statement), and had enlisted me to temporarily replace their pastor, who'd traveled over to

the next village-like settlement (several miles away) to perform a marriage ceremony, and would

be returning in just short of a week. So, I wake early to make it to the church prior to any of the

other more permanent inhabitants.

I reach into my pocket, a conditioned action, to try waking myself up. As I fumble through

my jacket, I reach up to my white shirt, buttoning up a few more inches, covering myself from

the almost frigid, penetrating cold of the clean air.

_S' almost like him, _I think, remembering fuzzily the first few moments of when I'd woken

up: He'd kicked the top sheet off, which had fallen to the floor. Of course, it was an instant guilt-

trip; even though he stoically slept on his side, I could see the cold of the morning getting to

him via the minute, unconscious shivers and the edge to the way his body folded in thirds-bent

at middle, knees, and his back, covered in a white-torso, black-sleeved night shirt, curved to

shield both the biological and prosthetic limbs resting, warming, sandwiched between his face

and pillow.

_Innocence, _I think, remembering how I'd paused in returning the comforter to the bed,

watching his face in, what I would like to say, was a clinical fashion, but I'm passed lying to

myself by now, after spending so much time with him. _Sometimes, though, _I allow my thoughts

of an honest manner in, distracted from censoring them from myself while I'm checking to cross

the street, then commencing to do so, _I wish I was passed lying to him, as well._

"Vash?" I say, poking my head in an hour or so later, finding him setting something on

the floor.

"Hey, Wolfwood," he says, raising a hand and waving it behind him in greeting.

"Afternoon," I respond, cocking an eyebrow at his kneeling form. "What are you up to?"

"Well," Vash begins, standing to his full height, "I've noticed that you've been a bit...

stressed, I suppose," he blushes at this revelation, "and I wanted to help you unwind."

"And that thing on the floor is for...what?" I ask, keeping the sarcasm to a minimum.

"Uh, come here, a moment," the blush deepens, and I think my breath just caught. "Put

your feet here," he points to the thing on the floor, which turns out to be a mat with

several numbered footprints on it, with dotted lines showing the movement of the feet. As I

comply, I feel something wrap-chastely-around my waist, and _Oh, it's him, his hand's on my _

_hip_; I note, dimly, through the blush that I'm sure is overtaking my face, that my heart is

pounding just a bit faster than it was a few moments before. There's a gentle humming,

rumbling sound all of a sudden, _wait a moment, what? _I look up from where my head had found

a place on his right shoulder, he's smiling, but I know he's doing something else; could it be,

he's ... _he's humming, _singing, _almost, to me?_

Through the noise of my heart, breathing, and the intoxicating sound and sensation of

his humming, I also realize he's trying to move me a bit, in time to the song. "Wolfwood...

Nicholas," he murmurs, amused. "Relax." His other hand, the left one, slides up my arm gently,

and gives my right shoulder a gentle squeeze, staying there. I sigh at that, just the way he says

my name, _so nice,_ like how he touched my shoulder, and the tension of feelings realized drains

away with the expelling of breath.

He's mumbling something, now, as I mimic his hand positions; something soft, his voice

lower than usual: _"Every morning, I get up, and I try to feel alive, but I can't. I know there's _

_Something in me just won't give me a chance. I think it's that I feel more confused by the deal _

_Love has shown me_

Is he really singing to me?

_"... Did you know that there's a light, _

_and it's gonna shine right through your eyes, _

_What do you think that life is like? _

_Somewhere over there, there's a purpose, there's a care for free. _

_In me, there's nobody no one planned, no one's scared to be free_

_I think that it's because I think I've seen all the fuss and it's no big deal,"_

_How can he say that, 'no big deal'?_ I wonder, knowing they're only words in a dated

song; even so, I'm shivering in the sound of his voice, dipping lower than usual every so often

on the lyrics.

_"-Hold me hold me 'cause I wanna get higher and higher_."

Now, though, as I hold him tighter, it makes sense, just a little bit, the rest of the day can

wait. Heck, the rest of the _world _can wait for this.

He repeats a few of the last words, and lets me lean into him, like he had leaned

on me yesterday night, only he's really holding me, as opposed to me, who's resting limply. The

song's done, as far as I know, he's only humming again, when the tune switches, and

he half-murmurs, half-sings, "you can call me a fool, but..." my eyes are closed, and I'm barely

registering anything, though, as he whispers "I only want to be with you," and warmth, starting

from my lips, radiates through me.

Vash pulls away from me, just for a moment, his mouth quirking up in a grin; by this time,

I've opened my eyes, making sure this is real: his head's on my shoulder, while I smile slightly.

"You know," I start, the grin still on my face, though I think by now it's become a smirk,

"now that we're being so honest with each other, I have to wonder-you weren't really drunk last

night, were you?"

His head raises, a sleepy smile on his face. "No. I was perfectly cone-stold sober," he

says with absolute articulation.

"So, you were just leaning on me the other evening because...?"

Vash's smile becomes something different between my shoulder, and looking up at me;

something... carnal.

"Come on, what do you think, Wolfwood?" Vash asks, that grin still in place as he lightly

punches me in the arm.

"With you," I say, slinging an arm around his shoulders, diffusing the nearly-sexual

nature of his grin, "I'll never know." I feel a warmth rise in me again as he returns the action of

companionship. _But, _I think happily, leading him downstairs for a late lunch, _it'll be one heck of a _

_time figuring him out_.

Author's Notes: Aside from the songs that are noted with title and band, the song that Vash... I suppose the word would be "serenaded", Wolfwood with is a song called "I go Blind" by the "Rock-n-Western" band Hootie and the Blowfish, and the phrase "You can call me a fool, I only want to be with you" are lyrics from another song by the same band, by the title of "I Only Wanna Be With You". It seemed, at the time, an appropriate integration of a band I've recently rediscovered.


End file.
